how could the silence be so loud
by coffee-not-decaf
Summary: "Happy Christmas," Merlin said out loud. There was no response, because the house was empty, and he was alone.


The night was cold, bitterly cold, the first snow of the year dusting the dark and nearly empty streets. There was barely a car in sight in the hibernating neighborhood, most of its inhabitants inside their warm, dimly lit houses, exchanging gifts, drinking eggnog, singing carols, all while enjoying the comforts of being with their family on Christmas Eve.

All but one.

Merlin was on his front porch. The snow fell in patches around him, but despite not having a coat or even a light jacket, he didn't look cold. He felt cold, that was for certain, but the ice block in his heart had nothing to do with something as simple as the weather.

He sat in silence there until past midnight, watching the lights in each house flicker off one by one until they were all gone, all asleep in their beds, their husband or wife, children, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, all near to them, all within a touchable distance, and the only lights left were the Christmas lights, strung up red and green on nearly every house.

He heaved out a sigh before standing up, chair rocking backwards slightly as he did, snow crunching underneath his feet. He opened his front door and looked inside his own vacated, barely lived-in house with no one there, no lover or child or sibling. Nothing.

There was no one but him.

Camelot had never celebrated Christmas, Christmas had come after their time, with the rise of Christianity over the Old Religion. Merlin kept his own beliefs, the ones that had died out centuries upon centuries ago, firmly locked in his heart – he would never forget them, just as he would never forget the faces of his friends that had so long ago passed – but the Christmas holiday had become more than a section of religion.

It had become an entity unto itself, a day for presents and singing and joy, for family and friends and giving thanks for all of their blessings, a day for remembrance and for celebration.

It had become a day that Merlin dreaded each year.

"Any plans for the holidays?"

"Going anywhere special this year?"

"Got family coming by?"

Just simple small talk from service workers, cashiers at the grocery store or a department store manager, casual words from his coworkers at the bookshop he had spent the last six months making small money at, were too much for him. He brushed off their comments with a noncommittal shrug, and they let the subject go.

They must figure he had no family to celebrate with.

Which was possibly the truest thing they knew about him.

Merlin fell against his couch, a worn and red thing whose color had reminded him of flags and capes that he had cleaned too many times, and curled up his feet. The coffee table in front of him had a cup of cold hot chocolate on it. He had tried to put himself in a festive mood earlier that day, but efforts were futile and the cup had gone unfinished.

He put it up to his lips now and took a sip.

It was cold.

He laughed, humorlessly, because this, this was what he was. A cup of cold hot chocolate, something that had once been lovely, warm, and grand, but had been left alone so long that it had been reduced to a cold, tasteless, bitter entity.

He drank the rest of it in one gulp.

"Happy Christmas," he said out loud. There was no response, because the house was empty, and he was alone.

He tried to imagine what it would be like if he could spend Christmas with Arthur. They would definitely get a tree – Merlin had never gotten a tree before – decorate it nice and fancy, and Merlin would let Arthur put the star on top, or make a cheesy joke about Arthur being his star. Arthur would roll his eyes and tell him off, and they could drink eggnog or vodka and they could sing carols or make a snowman, and Arthur would laugh because Merlin would enjoy it so much.

They could have a snowball fight – Merlin recalled a time in Camelot, with the knights, during a winter month where they had free time, and Gwaine had shoved snow down his and Percival's shirts, starting a mad rampage to get revenge, and somehow all of the knights had gotten involved.

Merlin thought of the knights now. Gwaine would love eggnog, would love carolers, would love gifts; would love everything about this season. He would make them do a Secret Santa gift exchange or some other silly game, and they would all sigh but play along. Leon would make cookies, Gwen would help him. Gwen would get them all gifts, all unique and chosen especially for them, would choose all of the ornaments for the tree. Lancelot would sing carols. Percival and Elyan would make an entire village of snow people, and Gaius would regard them all skeptically and sigh fondly into his tea.

Merlin would drink hot chocolate and he would enjoy it.

The thoughts made tears spring to his eyes, which was ridiculous. He had never spent a Christmas with his friends, never. He didn't even know what he was missing. So why were these thoughts infiltrating his head, poisoning his thoughts with happiness that could never truly exist?

"_Baby, it's cold outside_…" Merlin sang quietly to himself as he set his empty cup back on the table. The television remote sat there next to it, and he immediately reached for it. He needed a distraction.

It's a Wonderful Life was playing. Merlin chuckled at the irony. A man was desperate and alone on Christmas. Difference was, Merlin couldn't kill himself, and even if he could, there was no angel to stop him, get in his way and show him what he was worth.

Merlin hadn't been worth anything in a very long time.

He thought of Camelot again, of his fallen friends and comrades, of Arthur and how he would look wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater, with Santa Clause or a reindeer embroidered on it, and how Merlin would laugh and tease him.

He thought of what kind of Christmas gift he could have gotten him. If Arthur was here, had been born here, he would have liked tickets to a football game or something, would have liked television, Merlin could have made him watch Doctor Who or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He would have liked homemade cookie or candy canes. He would have liked It's a Wonderful Life.

_"Every time you hear a bell ring, an angel gets its wings…"_

"Ding!" Merlin responded to Clarence dully.

It wasn't true, of course, Merlin had met angels, knew that there was no connection between them and bells, but it made him feel better, feel useful, and feel like he was doing something other than moping around feeling sorry for his self.

"_Last Christmas I gave you my heart…"_ Merlin wasn't on-key, but he rattled through strings and pieces of other carols, breaking off and suddenly starting again when inspiration struck. _"Through the years, we'll always be together, if the fates allow…_which they didn't. _Jingle bells, jingle bells…_An angle got its wings. _Angels we have heard on high…_Haven't heard a peep. _Glory to the newborn king…_I wish."

The movie played on in the background, Merlin only partway paying attention to it. It was past two now, and still he hadn't slept. It was Christmas Day.

He thought of the children that would run down the stairs to gifts from Father Christmas, of mothers and fathers that would smile indulgently at each other, at young lovers have lazy morning sex, of older couples just taking joy in having each other's company.

Merlin wanted it all at once.

"_Like some drunken Elvis singing, I go singing out of tune, saying how I've always loved you, darling, and I always will," _Merlin couldn't resist, a bubble of true, giddy laughter springing up inside of him, but was immediately squashed as he wished desperately for Arthur to be next to him, singing along or fondly grinning at Merlin's semi-declaration. He imagined spinning Arthur about the room, giggling and slightly drunk, singing him these songs, these songs that Arthur would never, could never, hear.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur," Merlin whispered, inexplicably saddened at the visual. A happy holiday indeed, the kind he had never gotten, never would. "I miss you."

The house remained empty; the only noise was the quiet undertones of George Bailey finally realizing just how lucky he was to have such brilliant family and friends, of getting his wonderful life, his happy ending.

Merlin clicked it off.

He hated happy endings.


End file.
